(Trigger Warning: Abuse)
Isadora slowly ascended the stairs, her expression clouded. Her long braid swayed gently behind her, and her stern gaze lifted toward the top.
Before her eyes, a ghost of memory flickered—her younger self, aided by Serena by her side, descended the same steps, dolled up in uncomfortable clothing, heavy jewelry donned every inch of her, from big earrings, necklace, bangles, and ankle chains.
The star price of Desire's Haven.
Her eyes remained fixed on this scene until they passed her to the enclave.
Isadora turned back to the stairs, her nerves working her to the bone. But she kept going until she reached the corridor.
Judging from the dust blanketing the ceiling and walls told her that Thornfoot never used this place.
She had silently prayed he did, in hopes that coming here would not unlock a core memory, but she was far too hopeful.
It was exactly the same.
Standing in this very space opened skeletons she thought she destroyed.
